


Prelude in D

by killabeez



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Gen, Pre-Series, Watchers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-02-17 03:38:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13068309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killabeez/pseuds/killabeez
Summary: After the sudden death of his field assignment, Joe Dawson considers his options and gets an unexpected visitor.





	Prelude in D

**Author's Note:**

  * For [idelthoughts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/idelthoughts/gifts).



_December 16, 1978  
ATTN: North Atlantic Regional Coordinator_

_Terminal Report on the Immortal Liza Grant, current alias Linda Thompson. Field agent Joseph Dawson reporting._

_At approximately three forty-five on the afternoon of the fifteenth, I observed Grant leaving her office early. She hailed a cab, and gave her destination as the Museum of the City of New York. I followed, and arrived in time to see her enter the museum. It was at this time I saw a man I recognized as the Immortal Stefan Collier also watching Grant. When Grant left the museum shortly before closing, Collier followed her._

_The two fought in an alley near Grant’s apartment. As per Collier’s M.O., he stated that he’d been studying Grant, preparing to take her head. The fight lasted for approximately ten minutes. No other witnesses._

_Time of death, seven thirty PM Eastern Standard Time, December fifteenth, nineteen hundred and seventy-eight A.D._

_End report._

=====

Dawson pulled up in front of his little place in Queens on a clear, moonlit Christmas Eve. He tucked a small bag of groceries under one arm and made his way up the short steps to the front door. The holiday didn’t mean much to him; his sister and her family were his only kin, and they were out in Washington, busy with their own lives. Tomorrow, he’d take a shift at the bar, and maybe start figuring out what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. Tonight, his only plans involved a TV dinner and a good book.

As he reached the door however, a man got out of the car across the street. Joe had pegged it for a rental, and assumed it was someone in town for the holiday, but as the man approached, Joe recognized him.

"Don! What the hell are you doing here?"

Don Salzer smiled his sweet, deceptively innocent smile. He had a knack for projecting the harmless eccentric that belied his years. “Is that any way to greet an old friend?” He revealed a bottle of cognac he’d held tucked in his coat. “Especially one bearing gifts?”

Joe laughed. "You don't even drink."

“I keep saying I should start. No time like the present, eh?”

"Well, far be it from me to stand in the way of progress.” Joe unlocked the door and gestured him inside. “Come on in."

They went into the tiny kitchen, and Joe started putting groceries away while Don looked around. Joe hadn’t seen him in more than three years. "Seriously,” he prompted, “what brings you to my neck of the woods? You’re a hell of a long way from Paris.”

Don shrugged. "I was in the neighborhood—thought I'd stop by." His eyes fell on the book Joe had left on the kitchen table, and his expression confirmed Joe’s suspicions. Don was a brilliant researcher, but he lacked anything remotely resembling a poker face.

Joe got out two glasses and set them on the counter. Don absently handed him the bottle. “Nineteen twenty-nine,” Don said, still checking out the chronicle, tilting his head to read the spine. “Wasn’t that the year she took up with Amanda?” He picked up the book and opened it with more than even his customary care.

“That’s right,” Joe said. He wasn’t sure how many Watchers pulled out a favorite chronicle or two when their assignment met their end, but he knew he wasn’t the only one. He’d done it when Ferrer died, and it felt like Liza Grant deserved the same. A lot of times when an Immortal died, no one else was left besides their Watcher to remember who they really were. 

“Good choice,” Don said. “Those two got into all sorts of adventures.”

“That they did.” Joe poured them each a measure of the cognac, and waited for Don to put the book down before handing his over. “How’d you find out?”

"About Grant?" Don gave him a sympathetic glance. “Ian.”

Joe huffed a breath out. “Ian. Shoulda guessed. How is he?”

“Bored. Getting into trouble at the archives, digging around Darius’s early Chronicles. He’s got me on some wild goose chase that goes back to Alexander.”

“Uh huh. You can’t fool me—you love it.”

Don smiled. “Guilty. You know me too well.” He hesitated, watching Joe keenly. "Ian said you were there for the fight."

"Yep. Sheer luck on my part." Watchers had to eat, and sleep, and hold down jobs—it was all too easy to miss a critical moment in your assignment's life. When Ferrer had met his fate in an abandoned warehouse in '74, Joe had been playing a gig half a mile up the road.

After a moment, Don raised his glass, and Joe followed suit.

"To Liza Grant," Don said.

"To Liza." Joe took a sip, and raised an eyebrow in respect. It’d been a long time since he’d tasted anything that good. 

Don said, "They say it gets easier."

Joe scoffed. “Who says that?”

“Nobody,” Don admitted. “But it sounded good.”

They went into the living room, where Joe turned up the heat, then put Lonnie Johnson on the turntable. When they were settled, he studied his colleague. He and Don had always gotten along, both history nerds at heart, though Don was the bookish type whose social life was limited to quarterly Watcher socials and the occasional lecture. They’d never been what you’d call close friends. Joe never could stand his wife, for one thing.

“So, you want to tell me the real reason you’re here?”

Don’s face fell. “I told Ian it was a bad idea to send me. Am I that transparent?”

“Let’s just say it’s a good thing you’re in research.”

“Tell me about it,” Don said glumly. “I never could fool anyone. If I ever came face to face with an Immortal, I’d probably get myself killed.” He considered. “That is, if Christine didn’t kill me first." He sighed. “Ian wanted me to tell you there's an assignment in Paris. It's yours if you want it."

"Paris! He resorting to bribery now?"

"If that's what it takes to keep you." Don took a delicate sip of the cognac and made a face. “He said you were talking about handing in your resignation.”

Joe shrugged. “Thinking about it.” He swirled his glass. “Maybe I’m not cut out for field work after all.” Pride kept him from bringing up the obvious, but when Grant had moved to New York, the physical demands had challenged him more than he cared to admit.

Don, bless him, didn't catch his meaning. Instead, he protested, “Don’t be ridiculous. Jack Shapiro says you’re one of the best field agents we have.” 

“Jack wouldn’t know a field assignment if it bit him in the ass.”

“Maybe, but he’s on track to become Regional Coordinator.” Don smiled. "You could always come work for me."

"Oh, no. Two years in research was long enough. Besides, you can’t afford me.”

“Sad, but true. I'll be lucky to find some poor grad student willing to work for pennies.”

Joe considered. “Paris, huh? Cathy would like that. She’s been trying to get James to take her for years.”

“They have a daughter, don’t they?”

“Lynn. She’s eight.” For the first time in a long time, he thought of Amy, and wondered how she and Laura were doing. Amy would be eight this year, too.

Don shook his head. “Must be strange for James, keeping secrets from them. I can’t imagine. You, too, for that matter. She’s your sister.”

“Luckily, she ain't the suspicious type.”

“To tell you the truth, I sometimes think it would be easier.” At Joe’s look, he explained, “Christine has never understood the importance of the work.”

“There’s a reason most Watchers are single.”

Don gave him a keen look. “Would that have anything to do with why you’re thinking of quitting?”

“Maybe. I’m thirty-five. I’m not getting any younger.”

“Ah, the irony.” Joe huffed a laugh. Don continued more seriously, “The work is important, though. I know you believe that, too.”

“Yeah, well. Tell that to Liza Grant. And Roy Ferrer.”

Don turned thoughtful. “It does seem as though things are accelerating. I’ve heard people talking.”

“Over here, too. I’ve even heard the G-word.”

Don scoffed. “Don’t tell Gwen. You know how she feels about that.”

“Still convinced it’s a myth, huh?”

“Or a rumor begun by a Watcher with an overactive imagination thousands of years ago.” At Joe’s look, he added, “Her pet theory. And I have to admit, she makes a good case.”

They fell into quiet contemplation. It was a hell of a thought. Talk about irony; for all they swore to never interfere, what if the Watchers were responsible for writing more than just dates and places and names? Words had power, and writing them down could create ideas that shaped history.

At last, Joe gave in to his curiosity. “So, what’s this assignment? Don’t tell me Ian’s willing to give up watching Darius just to keep me around.” 

Don laughed. “Not even for you, Joseph. No, not Darius. But I do think it’s right up your alley.” He let the suspense build a moment. “It’s MacLeod. The younger one—Darius’s student.”

For the first time in a week, Joe felt a powerful spark of interest. “Duncan MacLeod?” Everyone knew about the MacLeods. Connor practically had his own Watcher fan club. But Joe had always been fascinated by the younger Highlander, who seemed to have broken the mold when it came to making the most of his Immortality without sacrificing honor or integrity. 

Most Watchers, if you pressed them, would say they hoped the last Immortal standing would be someone like Darius, or May-Ling. But Joe, like MacLeod himself, had always had a soft spot for the underdog.

Don’s eyes twinkled, and Joe knew he’d given himself away. “So, shall I tell Ian you’ll be there by the new year?”

Wry, Joe tipped his glass in salute. “Here’s to Paris, I guess.”

“And to new beginnings.”

“New beginnings.”


End file.
